


The Warrior and The Witch

by Idestroyedtheworldoops



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Backstory, Canon Compliant, F/F, Falling In Love, Other, Partners in Crime
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29652939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idestroyedtheworldoops/pseuds/Idestroyedtheworldoops
Summary: “I am a sallow corpse, leave me to die,” she whines dramatically, refusing to stand up.Caroline glares at the witch on the floor. In a single movement, she pulls her all the way upright and holds her close so their faces are very near each other."There is very little in this world I respect less than self-pity," Caroline says gravely. The witch is still not standing under her own weight, leaning fully on Caroline. Her red-brown eyes are wide, staring. "I am not going to allow you to die today. I will not stand for it any more than my own death. Now stand up, keep your eyes abreast of your surroundings, and follow me.": A love story that spans all the world, from a dungeon underneath the southern ice to a cottage in the thick of the northern jungles.Or, two people who have never belonged anywhere find home in each other.
Relationships: Sir Caroline/Quanyii (Penumbra Podcast)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 6
Collections: The Penumbra Podcast Femslash February 2021!





	1. Chapter 1

“Get off your arse and help me break this chain.”

The pallid figure hunched in the corner of the cell doesn’t so much as move. Caroline glares for a moment, then considers the fact it may already be dead. She stalks to the edge of the length her chains provide and is met with a surprised whine when she touches her fellow’s arm. Caroline’s eyes narrow yet again, and the figure lets out a yelp as she physically pulls her to her feet. 

“What- are you doing?” The person unfolded is anemically pale, her curly black hair thin and dull. Caroline is sure she hasn’t been fed for as long as she’s been in here, which must be longer than Caroline’s single night. She blinks slowly at Caroline; if she hasn’t been pulled from the sleep of death, she’s been pulled from sleep of some kind. 

“Just hold this,” Caroline says, shoving the length of the chain binding her foot into the other woman’s hands. 

“It’s no use. The ice’s anti-magi- oh!” The other woman’s eyes widen as Caroline produces a knife from the thick furs she is wearing and positions it against the chain just so.

“Walk as far as you can towards the opposite wall,” Caroline orders, holding the dagger in place.

“What are you-” 

“Do it!”

The other woman blinks and, of her own accord, walks towards the other wall. Quickly the chain pulls taught. 

“Keep pulling!” Caroline says. The ice-cold metal, the only metal facet of this room, strains under the pressure and the blade until finally, it snaps. 

“That worked,” the other says, heavily-bagged eyes wide. “How did that work?”

“These cells are meant to hold witches,” Caroline says bitterly, grinding her teeth, “Not _perfectly_ competent _non_ -witches with _knives_.”

“Well,” the other woman blinks, still surveying her surroundings with half-asleep wonder. “Have fun outs-”

“Hold this,” Caroline repeats, placing the dagger into the other’s hand and hooking the chain that still holds _her_ leg around it. Caroline then takes the length of the chain and pulls, hard, but the other simply stumbles back and lets the chain go slack.

“Hold _still_ ,” Caroline says, fixing the other with an authoritative look.

She tries again, and the other strains against her strength this time. Caroline takes a step back and tugs with all her strength, and that is all it takes for both chains that had bound them to lay shattered at their feet. 

“You really aren’t a witch,” the other says, sounding impressed. “The anti-magical curse in here makes me too weak to stand, let alone think.”

“Clearly you can still do both with proper motivation,” Caroline says. Before the apparently true witch can reply she picks her up by the waist and holds her in the air. She squeaks, but does not seem to understand what Caroline wants.

“Push up the manhole cover,” she says through gritted teeth, and the witch looks up to see the barely-visible ring in the ice above them. Hesitantly, she raises both arms with all her waning strength and it pops up into the chamber above, leaving an uncovered entrance.

“Can you climb up?” Caroline asks, barely expending effort to keep her up. The witch has truly grown frail in here.

“Why am I coming?” The witch asks, sounding genuinely confused.

“I am going to need you to pull me up with the tools in the above chamber, unless you can lift me up yourself.” Caroline tempers her irritation. “Hold onto the edge and I’ll help you up.”

The witch grabs onto the rim of the hole, and Caroline easily supplements her weak grip by simply pushing her out by the legs. She hears the witch land in a pile and waits for the sounds of guards rushing over to throw her back down. Nothing happens. It seems these jailers were too confident in their faultless trap to waste time loitering around the entrance. Good.

“Do you see ropes in there? They should be hung up on the walls, it’s what they would’ve used to get us when- when they wanted,” Caroline explains. There is a moment long enough to make her worry before she hears rustling and then sees the witch lean over the hole with a bundle in her arms.

“Alright, drop me the looped end.” The witch does so, and Caroline wraps it around herself. “Now pull it closed.” The rope tightens. Caroline grimaces at the memories of men gleefully fishing for prisoners with these, of reluctantly allowing herself to be caught so she could strangle them with them once she was up.

“Now wrap your end around- there should be a pole of some sort up there, and pull. Just like the chains,” Caroline says.

To her disappointment, she hears much struggling and feels a faint tugging, but no progress is made. She hears heavy breathing and a thump on the floor. It is followed by a soft _‘oh_ ’ and a light chiming sound, and suddenly the rope pulls like a vice, and Caroline is pulled all the way up and out in a second.

“Forgot,” the witch says simply, looking at her own hands. She is sitting on the floor, and as Caroline stands up and replaces the manhole cover she lies all the way down and closes her eyes. “It’s good. To be out of there.”

“What do you think you’re doing,” Caroline says with narrowed eyes. She grabs the witch’s arm and she groans.

“I am a sallow corpse, leave me to die,” she whines dramatically, refusing to stand up.

Caroline glares at the witch on the floor. In a single movement, she pulls her all the way upright and holds her close so their faces are very near each other.

"There is _very_ little in this world I respect less than self-pity," Caroline says gravely. The witch is still not standing under her own weight, leaning fully on Caroline. Her red-brown eyes are wide, staring. "I am not going to allow you to die today. I will not stand for it any more than my own death. Now stand up, keep your eyes abreast of your surroundings, and _follow_ me."

The witch shifts her weight onto her own feet, nodding furiously before Caroline even finishes her statement. Caroline huffs then turns and leads the way through the north door.

At this stage, the only strategy to be had is speed. Once they hit the first guard Caroline dispatches him soundly with her knife and takes the witch by the arm so she can keep up as she breaks into a run. She knows that she could get out more quickly if she let the witch fall behind, but she quickly dashes the thought. The memory of the witch's whining on the floor lights something in the pit of her stomach. She is not going to give her the satisfaction. 

She has to stop and cut down two more men before they reach the outside, and by then there are six waiting for them in the courtyard. 

"Go!" Caroline yells in the open air, releasing the witch. She is tempted to shove her but she feels certain she would topple over.

"The Witch of the Wastes! Grab her, don't let her get away!" One of the guards yells. 

The first man who surges past Caroline to try and run after the witch is nearly bisected. Caroline pulls her knife through the man's abdomen with the force of his own run and shoves his barely-attached parts back at the others, knocking over another guard and making the rest scramble back a bit as the blood splatters. 

"Fight me, cowards," Caroline calls to them, and they have no choice but to oblige.

In a five-to-one knife fight, Caroline kills two more men before she begins to lose her advantage. She's taken more injuries than she would like, and the men have begun to circle her. The witch is nowhere to be seen, at least. She could run if she could get through the triangle of fighters she's engaging without being cut in half herself. 

Caroline takes a bad gash to the side at the same time one of them gets a hold of her fighting arm, and she can feel the moment before the killing blow. 

But her arm is wrenched from the man's hold and the blade that had been coming for her back lodges in something else. Caroline feels arms around her waist push her out of the circle of men, the invisible force skewered by another sword as it guides her out. The final man swings wildly and does find purchase in the invisible being.

It reveals itself. Caroline expected nothing else, but a pit still forms in her stomach.

The witch stands in the middle of the three men, three swords to the chest. She has not let go of the man who had his hand on Caroline, and wraps her arms around the other two before they can pull back their swords. The men could easily free themselves, Caroline thinks, and she does not understand why they haven't yet until they begin to scream.

The witch's blood has been smeared over all three of them and it begins to writhe in pattern over their skin. They begin going ashen; their bodies lengthen; their screams quiet. The swords in the witch's chest pull themselves out as gnarled grey branches, and the witch steadies herself on three leafless, grey trees. 

Caroline gapes at the witch, who finally looks at her. Despite what she just endured, the witch's eyes are wide and bright. 

"You saved me," the witch says, smiling softly at Caroline.

"I- _I_ -?" Caroline shakes her head. "Did you see what you just _did_?"

The witch steps away from the trees, steps closer to Caroline, looking at her with all the wonder this desolate place could allow. 

"I…" Caroline stares into the witch's still-strange red-brown eyes. She then lets her eyes wander to the new small grove long enough that she's pulled from her reverie by a _crack_.

"No-!" Caroline dives down and wraps the witch in her arms as she collapses. Idiot. Idiot, how could she let herself forget she was just stabbed three times-

The witch's knees hit the ground hard and Caroline thinks they must have been what cracked. How long _had_ they been keeping her that her bones got so weak? She-

Caroline startles. The witch is unconscious in her arms and so she should be drenched with red, but the witch is not bleeding. She has not healed, either. The wounds on her body are open but unmoving, and the blood in them is black and thick like rot. 

Caroline hears a single noise in the distance and scoops the witch up in her arms. She sprints out of the courtyard towards different trees, hunkers down behind a snowdrift, and stays still. The noises don't come any closer to her hiding spot yet, so she breathes out silently and turns her attention back to the witch.

She does not have a heartbeat. She is not breathing. In certain ways, it seems like she has been dead for weeks, but despite her blood, her skin is pristinely free of rot and- and she was up _five minutes ago_. Caroline runs her fingers over the wounds and their blackness, the tears in the witch's ridiculous-for-this-weather silk dress. This simple observation picks a hole in her mounting dread and makes her grind her teeth at this ridiculous person. She sheds her outermost furs and wraps them around the body, not caring that the black blood will get all over it.

Caroline gasps, then freezes when she realizes the noise she's made.

She listens for approaching footsteps and hears nothing, so she breathes out silently again and watches the witch continue to stir. She hums and nuzzles into Caroline’s coat, and then goes still again. 

“ _Witch_ ,” she hisses, but the body in her arms has gone still again. She has no heartbeat. 

...Had she ever had a heartbeat?

The guards had called her something. A children's tale itches at the back of Caroline's mind, a story that's been told and warped for so many centuries by so many people that it has made its way from the deadlands down to the frosts. Caroline swallows and holds the witch tight. She doesn't put too much stock into fairy stories, but there is one distinct detail she can remember of those stories that tells how that witch of legend restores herself. She has no other idea. She is not going to leave this... _person_. Not after what she just did for her. No matter who she might be. 

Caroline hears an almost content hum from the witch as she squeezes her close, and she knows she is not going to go back on her word.


	2. Chapter 2

Quanyii awakes comfortably wrapped in warmth, the thrum of the trees in her bones.

She opens her eyes and finds herself on a bed of furs, with another draped over her. Sunlight streams in in streaks from the open side of the well-crafted lean-to she's in, propped up against the thick dark trunk of an Everdead. She props herself up on her elbows so she can see the brilliant reflection of the light off the Everdeads' orange leaves.

"Finally."

Quanyii's eyes dart up. 

The warrior woman from the Southern prison is sitting across from her with a very self-satisfied look on her face. 

Quanyii blinks. Her face splits into a grin.

"Did you _nurse me back to health?_ " She squeals, delighted.

The warrior woman huffs, but continues to look proud of herself. "I know my legends. I heard your _title_. The Witch of the Wastes can always be roused from the brink of death in the Western Wastes."

Some of Quanyii's mocking delight wanes. She feels truly vital for the first time in weeks. The warrior has brought her home, and seems very self-satisfied about it. It's almost as if she's defeated Quanyii by saving her life. 

Quanyii smiles again. Has she?

"Your wounds closed up the second we were in sight of these trees, so I stopped to rest and clean you up," the woman continues. "I don't see why you couldn't have made some of these instead and saved me the six-day trek across the border." 

Quanyii laughs out loud. "I can't just- _make_ Everdeads!" Quanyii says, remembering the gnarled grey things she managed to make with her blood in comparison to the ruby-gold beauty of the trees all around her now. "Growing something dead is one thing, that was easy. But do you know how much raw power it would take to grow something like that, both dead and infinitely replenishing?"

If she could just go around making new Everdeads… Quanyii shivers. She could be invincible anywhere. That would take some of the fun out of her life, though, wouldn't it? Why else does she go to ignite her chaos in the other quadrants of the world if not for the challenge?

"Your skin seems to have no trouble," The warrior woman says, looking her up and down.

Quanyii giggles, sitting all the way up so that the blanket falls off her. She raises her eyebrow as she notices herself.

"You changed my clothes?" She asks, unbothered. Suggestive.

"It was purely clinical, I promise you," the warrior woman says, not taking the bait. 

Quanyii pouts. 

"Your dress is here if you want it," she pulls out a ball of bunched-up fabric, torn and stained black. "I almost used it in the lean-to, but it was too flashy even for that."

Quanyii gasps and snatches it out of her hands. "I'll have you know this is my least flashy dress," she pouts. It was also her only dress. She looks down.

She's been dressed in black fur fashioned into a thin garment, not unlike her old one in its simple design. She might recognize some desert animal with more time to examine it, but it is certainly distinct from the bright white thing the warrior woman is wearing.

Though she has shed a good amount of her clothes in the western heat. Quanyii's gaze lingers on the thick scarred muscles of the woman's bare arms. 

"So," Quanyii says, eyes trailing back up to the woman's face. Her hair is nice, she thinks. The long thick braids she'd seen in prison are tied up in a tight, elaborate bun. 

She's almost scowling, and Quanyii giggles again. "Now that I'm _finally_ up, what are you going to do with me?"

The warrior narrows her eyes and briefly laughs herself. "Don't pretend to be a damsel, now. I think we both know who's the more dangerous creature here."

Quanyii smiles. "But you could have done _anything_ while we were down south. My powers are weak enough down there you could tear my body apart. Take my head, I know people _love_ to keep heads. You could have made up for whatever it is you did to get jailed, gotten a fortune, been a _legend_ ," Quanyii says sweetly, keeping a lock on the other woman's eyes. "But you didn't." Quanyii remembers strong arms around her waist pushing her up out of hell, a knife flashing against one, two, six others without faltering for a second, a look back that lost her critical time, a flash of something like relief when she saw no sign of Quanyii's invisible body. "You saved me. And then you brought me home. All that trouble for some ancient, wicked witch? For _nothing_ in return?"

The warrior’s teeth are grit. She doesn’t answer for a long moment.

“I did nothing wrong,” she finally starts, a certain bite to her voice. “I have no need to _make up_. And I would not sell a human body,” she says. “Nor would I take pride in parading it around. A person deserves more dignity than that."

“And what if I were to tell you I never was a person?” Quanyii asks, “That I’m just some monstrous rot that sprang from the trees?”

The warrior looks at her evenly. “I would not believe you.”

They stare into each other's eyes, both unshaking, before Quanyii smiles and shakes her head. 

“I do not hate witches,” the warrior says, a little softer. “You are a human being-”

“ _Am I_.” Quanyii grins.

“You _are_ ,” the warrior says, unphased. 

“Not to mention, I owe you my life.”

Quanyii raises both eyebrows and laughs. “You saved my life twice.”

“Neither of us could have gotten out of that fortress without the other,” she corrects. “Until the point where you could have left me and chose not to.”

“And then you carried me to safety,” Quanyii reminds her.

She rolls her eyes. “You weren't a burden. I needed to get out of there anyway. That’s nothing to taking three swords to the chest.”

Quanyii giggles. “They were _knives_! I've taken more knives than that before.” 

“You nearly destroyed yourself,” she says. 

Quanyii huffs. “I have never met a person who tried to convince _me_ that they’re in my debt!” she says.

“I’ve never met someone who insisted to me I should kill them.”

“Oh, you can't now,” Quanyii says. “I just don’t understand why you didn’t try.”

“Well then perhaps you’re not going to,” the warrior snaps, turning and climbing out of their little structure.

Quanyii blinks, and frowns. She stands up herself and follows. The other woman is rolling up various things from the encampment into a pack.

“Leaving already?” Quanyii asks, audibly disappointed.

The woman grunts, not looking up at her.

“You know, if you insist on owing me a debt I will take it,” Quanyii says.

The woman finally stands upright, having gathered her things, and looks at her. “Fine. Any one thing,” the woman quickly corrects. “I hold that I owe you my life.”

Quanyii stares for a moment, then smiles.

“I didn’t get your name,” she says.

"Caroline," she answers. "Is that what you want?”

" _Car-o-line_ ," Quanyii rolls the name in her mouth. She laughs a little, thinks, then shakes her head. “No, I think I’ll hold you to that. You can have mine, too.” She holds out her hand. “Quanyii.”

Quanyii extended her hand to shake. That’s what she extended her hand for. Caroline, as if it is the most normal thing in the world, brings her fingers up to her lips and kisses them.

“Quanyii,” she nods, all the confidence in the world, completely straight-faced, and walks away.

Quanyii feels some kind of current run from her fingertips to her chest. Quanyii has had many paramours in her many, many years, but for the first time since the night she first died, she swears she can feel her heart beat.


	3. Chapter 3

Six months pass, and Caroline does not return to the Southern Frosts.

She’s started towards the border several times and always turned back around. It’s not that she enjoys the Wastes- at all- but that the more she thinks on it, the more she realizes there is nothing for her in the Frosts. Caroline has started over nearly every year for as long as she can really remember. It was bound to reach a point where she wore out the Southern quadrant of the world.

It is an adjustment. She learns quickly that the average deadlander has far thinner skin than anyone she’s ever known, and cannot deal with problems such as monsters or bandits by themselves. They are willing to pay good coin to have these problems dealt with by those stronger than them, so that is what Caroline does to sustain herself in this blistering, dried-out place where her other skills are unsuited. 

In her free time, she investigates. She asks around and gets mostly gorey ghost stories, none of which hold so much as an eye-witness’s credibility. Reading through records and histories gives her more helpful information, a timeline at the very least. Some events that definitely did happen, though whether the Witch truly committed them is unclear. The records indicate one pattern in the Witch of the Wastes’ chaos, a favorite pastime of sorts, and Caroline finds herself heading towards an event the pattern indicates might draw her in.

Caroline is, for once, shocked to be right.

And so, today, she is very reluctantly interrupting the celebration of the Tsar of the Wastes's daughter's wedding, solely because she saw a certain face in the crowds.

Now she watches that face converse lightly with the Tsarevna, talk to her about god-knows-what until the witch's eyes lock with Caroline's from across the room and the facade if only for a moment, drops. Caroline stares back at Quanyii, and the Tsarevna frowns in disappointment as the witch completely forgets her, pushing through the crowd toward Caroline with grace and without hesitation until they are face-to-face. 

“You stayed,” Quanyii says.

Caroline looks at the witch for a moment. She decides to ignore that and get to her more pressing concern. “Care to explain your disguise?”

The witch blinks up at her, then smiles knowingly. “What disguise?”

Caroline groans, and the witch laughs. “Don’t. What are you playing at, dressing up as a man to go talk to the Tsar’s daughter, on the eve of when she’ll rise to the throne?”

Quanyii laughs again, harder this time. “Jealous?”

Caroline scoffs. “Hardly.”

The witch looks her down for a good moment, still smiling. “I’m not wearing a disguise.”

Caroline narrows her eyes and is about to bite out another retort when something occurs to her, and there is a stirring close to her heart. Despite the continued smile, she can pick out a familiar guardedness on the witch’s face.

Caroline lowers her voice so the partygoers around her cannot hear. “You are a man.”

Quanyii’s smile widens just enough that Caroline notices. “Mmm. For right now. Don’t get too used to it.”

Caroline blinks and frowns. But when she sees that familiar flash of emotion in the witch’s eyes, a look she’s never had directed _at_ her before, she shakes it off. It's not something she’s familiar with, but that doesn’t matter. Caroline nods.

“What shall I call you?” she asks.

The witch’s smile comes back full force. “Always Quanyii. My head’d be spinning otherwise.”

Caroline nods again, then looks at the witch out of the corner of her eye. “What are you doing here? Is it to seduce the Tsarevna?”

Quanyii makes a disgusted noise. “Absolutely not. I can’t stand royals. They’re much nicer with their things in my bag and their bodies strung up to rot.”

Caroline chokes, looking from Quanyii to the surrounding guests and back.

“Oh, don’t worry, they can’t hear me,” he winks at her. “That was just between us.”

Caroline stews for a moment, pulse rising. She hadn’t thought- even when she saw the witch here, she hadn’t really thought… 

“If you try to kill that person, I will stop you,” she says slowly.

“Oh, you already have!” the witch says brightly. “I think I’ll have much more fun over here.”

“Is that a threat?” Caroline asks.

“Never.” Quanyii splays his hand across his unbeating heart.

“I’m not afraid of you,” Caroline says, getting in the witch’s face.

“I know.” 

Caroline glares at his smiling face for a long pause.

“How’ve the Wastes been treating you?” the witch asks, taking a sip of a drink she could swear he wasn’t holding the moment before.

Caroline glares some more, considering whether to bite back at his attempt at small talk before she sighs. She grabs a drink from a nearby table herself and says, “Poorly. The heat’s terrible. The monsters are laxer, but that’s not a good mark because I like fighting monsters.” She pauses. “And the people are god-awful.”

Quanyii laughs loudly and suddenly in the middle of taking a drink. Though a lot of it spills none of it gets on his clothes, and still has a decent amount to raise towards Caroline. “To that.”

Caroline looks at him. She clinks her glass and toasts.

"And what have you been up to?" Caroline asks. "You really have the fondness for assassinations the legends pin on you?"

Quanyii hums agreement. "Not a lot of good opportunities lately, though. This was the first in a while, but," he shrugs, not having so much as looked at the Tsarevna since he saw Caroline. 

Caroline rolls her eyes. “How’s the eating children and razing villages to the ground business, then?”

Quanyii scoffs. "Please," he takes a sip of his drink. "I don't _eat_. And I don’t do fire."

“I said raze, not burn,” Caroline says casually.

Quanyii lifts an eyebrow. “How would you go about razing a village flame-free?”

Caroline shrugs. “There are a thousand ways to destroy something. Windstorms can lay waste to a shoddily made village. Release a pack of wild beasts, while you’re at it.”

“Ooh,” Quanyii says, “I’ll keep all that in mind.”

“Please,” Caroline says, taking another drink.

The witch blinks. “Sorry?”

“You’re not a monster,” Caroline says.

Quanyii raises an eyebrow. “You think you know what I will and won’t do?” 

Caroline looks into the witch’s eyes again. “I think you don't go around slaughtering innocents. There’s no actual evidence that you’re the senseless beast of wanton evil everyone seems to think you are. I don’t know your limits- clearly- but it’s not my business. I know what I saw in the Southern prison, and I know what I’m seeing now. I think you're a person, and not nearly the worst one I’ve met.”

“You saw me transmogrify three men,” Quanyii says.

“Three men who were going to kill us.” Caroline rolls her eyes. “You watched me kill six.”

Quanyii hums salaciously at the memory, and Caroline smacks his arm. 

“None of that,” she says. 

The witch laughs softly.

“You really were amazing,” he says, no longer suggestive. Something sparkles in his eyes, and he steps closer to Caroline. “... Remember that debt you insisted you owe me?”

Caroline fixes her posture and turns to look the witch fully in the eye. “Yes.”

“I just had the best idea,” he taps her shoulder. “Do you mind skipping the party?”

Caroline narrows her eyes. “What are you intending?”

Quanyii blinks and then gasps, laughing. “Oh, despicable! I thought you said you didn't think I was evil. No, no, I’ve had my eye on something recently, and I think you could help speed that process along quite a bit. You said you like killing monsters, right?”

Caroline raises an eyebrow. "I can cut through as many of those dumb reptilian animals you have here as you'd like. It'll be no challenge."

"Oh?" Quanyii tilts his head. "Even a King Tyrantlizard?"

Caroline scoffs. "Undeserving of that title. Nothing more intimidating than your average non-magical beast, and even stupider."

Quanyii giggles. "Sounds a lot like a king, actually."

"Is that all you need?" Caroline asks with disdain.

Quanyii shakes his head. "No, I would never bore you like that. I hope the beasty I've got in mind can at least keep you on your toes. Either way, I want its head."

Caroline looks at the witch. He seems serious. Caroline looks back out over to the new couple about to be crowned and back, then shrugs. "Alright then. Lead the way."

A dancefloor has formed between where they are and the exit since they got over here. Quanyii grins and holds out his hand. Caroline takes it.

"Don't spin me," Caroline hisses as they casually weave their way across the dance floor.

"Do you want to spin me?" He asks, half-joking.

She does spin him, roughly, and he's left breathless. Caroline smirks. 

"You are fun," Quanyii says, looking a little ruffled and very pleased. 

They reach the exit. Caroline nods to the guards she convinced to let her in not too long ago. She sees Quanyii smile at them, convincing but completely devoid of warmth.

Caroline and Quanyii give each other a look of familiarity as they round a corner away from the palace, the thought passing through their minds that they both had to trick their way in.

“What kind of thing are we looking for?” Caroline asks as they wander farther from city streets, out toward the desert wilderness.

Quanyii laughs. “Now that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?”

“How am I expected to track something if I don’t know anything about it?” Caroline snaps.

“Oh, don't worry about that,” Quanyii says. “Just worry about when it finds us. Oh!” 

He seems to look Caroline up and down and notice something alarming. She glares. “What?”

She hears the sound of wind chimes and a harp and is about to ask what nonsense he’s up to now when a sword pops into existence. She catches it before it hits the ground.

“You’re gonna need that.” 

Caroline turns the blade over in her hands. Good and solid, but it doesn’t seem particularly special.

“Bold of you to assume I wasn’t already armed,” Caroline says.

The witch smiles. “Whatever you can hide on your person’ll be a little small for this job.”

“You’d be surprised,” Caroline deadpans, and the witch breaks out laughing again. 

Caroline has heard the witch laugh many times, and she marvels at his ability to sound like a true wicked villain from a children's tale. This version of it is different but matched by the high-pitched cackle-giggle she'd heard so many times during their first conversation, obviously lower and more of a chuckle, but with the same ringing attempt at being ominous that would certainly work on a lesser person.

Quanyii sees her looking. Caroline straightens to look away as the witch meets her eyes, but stops. She didn't have time to notice the first time they met, or maybe just didn't have the right setting, but she notices now that his red-brown eyes glitter in the Western sunlight.

Caroline freezes for an entirely different reason.

"When did the sun rise?" She asks urgently. They haven't stopped walking. But- no, they haven't lost track of time, it's been- 

She narrows her eyes as the witch hums in delight.

"It's happening!" He squeezes her arm and looks around at the suddenly sunlit desert excitedly. 

Caroline opens her mouth to question him but is drowned out by a horrible, crashing roar. 

Quanyii looks horribly pleased with himself. He flourishes at the shape growing on the horizon- in the air. It's flying.

"We're here!" 

Caroline adjusts her stance as the beast blocks out the sun. She recognizes it. 

A dragon, rust-colored matte scales used to masquerade as rock formations in this Western desert covering its swollen body. The beast would barely fit in the celebration hall they met up in. It dives down on her and she rolls out of the way and slashes at the monster as it passes, but as she is about to land a hit, she finds herself several steps away. Where she was standing a moment before. Just in time for the dragon’s tail to sweep her up and fling her a couple dozen feet away.

"Need any help?" Quanyii calls to her from his safe distance.

Caroline ignores him. She stands up and squares herself, scanning the trajectory of the monster as it turns in the air. Already thinking about the moves she'll have to make, the pattern she’ll have to learn to get this thing dead on her sword.

"Stay behind me," she calls back without looking at the witch.

She thinks, with begrudging excitement, that he did not disappoint her. 

The witch still yells a pointer or two at her as she fights, but it doesn’t distract her and he stays safe, so she allows it. She’s unsure how much time passes- or, frankly, exactly in what kind of line it’s moved- by the time she has her sword sunk through the dragon’s eye and into its brain, and the beast and the timestream both go still.

Caroline is pulled out of the revery of a successful kill by Quanyii cheering her, suddenly close enough to pat her back. 

"Congratulations and thank you," he says emphatically, eyes sparkling at her. "May I see that?" 

Caroline's brow furrows, but she hands back the sword the witch offered her earlier. He kneels beside the dragon's head and begins hacking at it. When she notices exactly what he is doing her stomach turns.

"Are you cutting out its eyes?" 

Quanyii grins. "What did you think I needed this old thing for?" 

He scoops the eyeballs along with the surrounding juices and drops them into a large jar. Then he stands and looks at Caroline, utterly pleased. 

"Do you really expect me to believe you couldn’t have done this yourself?" Caroline asks.

The witch laughs. "Getting to watch was half the fun.” He looks to the side. “And besides, dragons have a way of only showing up when it’s inconvenient, and I, myself, cannot think of a single instance where meeting a dragon would not be convenient for me. What about you?”

Caroline looks at the large, eyeless corpse and back to the witch, unimpressed. “I think it’s rather obvious.”

“Well, yes, but you must have been making other plans if the dragon deigned to drag you away from them. That’s why I could never get to one of them, you see, because I wanted to. What were you thinking about doing when it showed up?”

Caroline blinks, then stands ramrod-straight as her face heats just slightly. “Nothing.”

Quanyii starts to laugh, just barely stops himself. It does not help Caroline’s not-blush.

"We're even, then." Caroline huffs and turns away. 

She hears a soft oh. Then, "I'd like to see you again."

Caroline turns back and gives him an appraising look. “You know, I’ve never seen anything worth my time in a man before.”

Quanyii tilts his head, gives her a considering look. “Give me like an hour?”

Caroline laughs, really laughs, and it takes her a moment to realize the witch is not laughing with her. Her eyes snap back to his, momentarily worried she’s crossed some line, but he does not look hurt. He looks… 

He looks more like he did covered in his own blood walking out of a new grove of dead trees, open and adoring, and she realizes he had just been watching her laugh. Like she was watching him before the dragon hit. And she thinks, with begrudging excitement, that she is very interested in this witch.

"Alright.” She says, like opening a door. 

Quanyii startles, blinks, then smiles wider. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quanyii's an anarchist I don't make the rules! Also I wrote this, like. Months ago. No correlation with current news. Weird how these things happen

**Author's Note:**

> Quanyii self-describes having made herself undead... and says she has been burned at the stake multiple times... while at the same time the Garden of Graves says no one else can return from the dead? So I assume she just never. Quite passes through the doors. So is always toeing the line
> 
> Anyways woo! Happy season finale everyone, pls tell me what you think in the comments!


End file.
